Filistata
by Hibaisy
Summary: A tragic tale of a cliche epic love octagon. Veruca and Nevaria love Snape, who loves Karilyn, whilst Draco loves Veruca but omg he's betrothed to Nevaria. When Voldemort makes a marriage law to counteract the ministry's, life gets hectic for our sues.


Filistata

One of Nevaria Ashari Black's earliest memories was when she was merely three years old. She hobbled over to her godfather, Lucius Malfoy, and tugged on his well-fitted, satin pants. He looked down at her, one pale eyebrow arched over his icy-grey iris. "G-Daddy Lucius," she inquired prettily, her grey eyes wide, "where do babies come from?"

Lucius calmly bent down on one knee and put his hand on her shoulder. "Well, you see . . ." he began, his cold drawl nearing what could have been construed for fondness, "a stork comes in the middle of the night . . . and fucks you. Then you get pregnant."

Nevaria watched as her godfather stood up, turned on the silver-plated heel of his boot, and walked away, the clicking of his heel on the marble floor echoing. "And stop calling me G-Daddy; I'm not some fucking rap star."

Nevaria had never known her parents. No, really--not ever. Her father, Regulus Black, had been killed by Voldemort before she was even born, and her mother, Lexicorn Swanswong, had been forced into labour in front of her husband's killer. As soon as Lexicorn uttered her child's name, Voldmeort had her murdered so he could raise her as his own. Much to Voldemort's chagrin, though, a year later Harry Potter was born, and a year after that Voldemort was vanquished, and Nevaria (at just the tender age of two) was thrust into the care of Lucius Malfoy and his family.

Nevaria was exceedingly beautiful. She had long, straight black hair that almost looked purple in the sunlight and grey eyes like the stormy grey clouds of a thunderstorm. When she was angry one could almost see the lightning flash in her eyes, and when she was sad, it was like her tears were the raindrops of the tragic storm that raged inside her.

Nevaria was eighteen and had just graduated Hogwarts. It would have been totally brill had it not been marred by Snape killing Dumbledore. But he did, so she had dealt with it. It was kind of annoying that everybody focused on the death of an old man--seriously, he was going to die soon anyway--instead of their graduation. But oh well, it wasn't her fault that the Hogwarts staff couldn't prioritize properly. It was silly to not do a graduation celebration and just hand them their diplomas. It wasn't like it would have forced them to postpone a funeral. Honestly, some people were just selfish.

She sat in front of her vanity table, staring at her oval mirror, which was framed in diamonds. She watched as her silky strands of ebony ran through the teeth of her porcelain brush, the light shimmering across her hair, giving it a purple gleam.

Good God she was fucking fit.

There were a few short knocks on her bedroom door. She stood elegantly out of her chair, her purple dress-robes clinging to her soft, feminine form, draping across her body, showing off her thin form. She assumed it was her right little cunt of a house-elf Tipsy. "Come in," she said, her voice gentle and soft like a fucking linen cloth or some other such shit.

The door opened to reveal Draco. Draco's platinum-blonde hair fell across his forehead sexily and barely covered his piercingly blue eyes. He swept into the room, shirtless, his black sweats taut. With an eyebrow raised, he leaned against the doorframe and winked at her. "You got a visitor, Nevaria," he said with a sexy smirk.

"Thank you very much, Draco, I'm perfectly capable of introducing myself," came a familiar Cockney voice. Veruca Riddle stepped into her room, elbowing Draco as she passed him.

Veruca Riddle was the spawn of Voldemort (obviously) and Venus Bitchotchi. Although Venus would often spout off in Japanese and would often slip into a Japanese accent, she was actually really Irish. She had a very thick accent which sometimes made it difficult to understand her. How the hell a spawn of the Dark Lord and an Irishwoman had a Cockney accent was still unknown to that day.

Veruca had jaw length, soft blonde hair that was naturally curled into ringlets. She was wearing dark eyeliner around her vividly blue eyes, her lashes thick and black, with grey eye shadow that gave her eyes a smoky appearance. Her lip-gloss was skin-colored. She was wearing a white corset with a white flow-y skirt with black boots underneath, and black fingernails.

"Thought it polite to introduce you is all," Draco said with a shrug.

"Well I don't fink I need it mate. Why don't you piss off an' let me introduce meself, yeah?" she spat.

Draco stopped leaning against the doorframe and raised up both of his hands. Because she was raised by Venus (before Voldemort returned obviously) and she was close to the Malfoys, so Veruca and Draco often acted like brother and sister.

Draco swept out of the room and Veruca stepped fully in, using her foot to slam the door shut. She looked Nevaria over and nodded. "Cor, luv, really like your dress. It's purple. A bit like the prose."

"What?" Nevaria asked, confused.

"Never mind. Me mum sent me up 'ere. Said there's summat we need to talk abou' or some other such shite. Da's all wantin' to talk, as well." She shrugged, the gestured to the door with her head, her tight curls bobbing with the motion.

With a shrug, Nevaria followed Veruca out of her bedroom and down the marble staircase with the silver railings. She knew this manor like the back of her hand, seeing as she lived there. As did Veruca. And every other fucking person in any way connected to any Death Eater.

Venus, Veruca's mother and Voldemort's lover, was waiting for them at the end of the stairs. She had her blonde hair pulled up into a tight bun, her blood-red lipstick was smeared, and her green-and-white kimono fit her just as it should. Venus took a drag off the cigarette. "Well, well, well, finally decide at join us with your presence ded ya?" she asked in her thick Irish accent. At least she wasn't feigning her Japanese was, which was actually quite pitiful and a disgrace to real Japanese people.

"Well I just found out I needed to come down here," Nevaria admitted, brushing off her purple dress robes just as Lucius Malfoy came around the corner.

Lucius walked carefully, his awesome sexilicious pimp cane clicking along the marble as did his silver encased heels to his boots. He wore a form fitting blood red top with black designs on it, with his silvery blonde hair falling past his shoulders and a scowl on his lip. His icy-blue eyes (although previously described as grey) scanned the room distastefully. His trousers were so red they looked nearly black. "Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence," Lucius drawled.

"The Slytherin Princess has descended from her tower," came the hauntingly beautiful voice of Narcissa Malfoy. She walked in elegantly, her dark red dress swishing around her feet while her stilettos clacked against the marble. She wore red lipstick to match, with her long blonde hair flowing past her shoulders and a faint colour of red around her eyes.

"Bloody hell, do you hafta describe every bit of clothing? It's not like if you don't describe it they'll be naked," Veruca interjected randomly.

That was when the Dark Lord walked in, black robes trailing behind him lightly like smoke, his porcelain white skin gleaming as were his malevolent red eyes. "Ah, my good, good . . . Friends. How pleased I am to see you all. I trust we have time for a . . . discussion?" he said calmly, then flicked his hand and a silver goblet appeared in it, one that he took a careful sip out of. When nobody objected, he smiled a lipless smile. "Good."

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A/N--review or die, poppets. Hahaha just kidding. Nah, but really, this is the first chapter of the parody.


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